Heathrow International
London, England
The fine, misty gray of a standard English rain covered the runway in slick reflections, giving no pause to the military personnel transports. Their thick, broad tires slicing through with random splashes, dozens of British soldiers continued to cordon the airport, as even more arrived.
Exactly two hours ago, the United Kingdom went on full global alert. As with most other nations, a curfew of martial law had fallen across the land. The population of the streets had dwindled to few stragglers, here and there. Some were homeless, searching for a refuge from the sudden military presence. Others were doing their best to scurry home from their jobs. Most, however, were simply looking for a decent pub still open, with the notion that...if the world was going to end...they were damn well going to be drunk enough to enjoy it.
"Two hours, officer."
Oh, yes. The airport.
"We have been waiting here....in the rain.....for exactly two hours, three minutes, and forty-two seconds."
A fresh-faced private, straight from the ranks of Her Majesty's Royal Cadets, fumbled with a desperation to remain the dominant factor in the immediate conversation.
"M-ma'am....I'm not an officer...I--"
"My pilot sits in his cockpit, drinking hot tea. Perhaps he's listening to Brahms right now? Mr. Huffman has terribly striking taste in the classics....as does Miss Xiang in her personal pilots. I do rather enjoy trips with him...."
"Ma'am, I--"
"Do you know why I enjoy trips with him, officer?" the tall, Asian woman continued unabated. Her words crisp and precise.
Her eyes even more so.
"I--"
"Because of his fine taste in music. Sometimes he will pipe it into the cabin, the lush strings so very accoustically balanced. The mountains of white sailing with epic drifts just outside the window....the clean bouquet of a Chardonnay, as it slides down my throat..."
"Ma--"
"It's quite glorious, you know. Something I look forward to with an implicit determination."
"I'm su--"
"Tell me something, officer....do you know why I'm not half-way through a bottle of wine right now, actually being moved to literal tears by the German Requiem, Opus 45?"
"Bec--"
"Because I'm here with you, instead."
She took a single step closer, and the private actually jumped a bit.
"Here...in the rain..."
The small ornamental umbrella cocked over her head did little to chase away his feeling that this woman...this gorgeous, intimidating tower of grace and patience...could probably castrate him with her thumbnail.
"...as we have been...for two............."
The sound hung on her tongue, her eyes emphasizing the pause in her words.....heavy with extreme irritation, and the supreme will power that held back her deadly skill.
".........hours........"
The private stared with a poorly hidden fright, Nuriko's glaring pupils dominating his vision. Overhead, a low rumble of thunder peeled slowly across the vast expanse of gray. The man began to speak, and then, paused, waiting to see if Nuriko was going to interrupt him again.
"...M-Madam?" he briefly stuttered. "Yor' friend had no passport. We merely ha--"
"It was a one-way flight." Nuriko stated.
"Be that as it may--"
"It is in the logged flight plans, submitted to your tower."
"Even--"
"If not for this pedantic little war that has just erupted, we would have been touching down on a sunny isle right about--"
The door to the security hangar suddenly burst open, cutting off her words. Two more soldiers, physically gripping Nuriko's new companion by each arm, practically carried him quickly out onto the tarmac.
"Right, missus'.", one of the soldiers spoke. "Board yor' plane immediately...."
They tossed Ozzy towards her, his body hitting the ground before ever reaching her unflinching posture.
"...take this bawstard' wit' ya'..." he continued, "...and never bring 'em back."
Nuriko glanced down at Ozzy, impassionate as usual, then back up again.
"He's got a record, missus'..." the other soldier explained. "...under court order, e' is....can't come back into our country."
Baxter slowly stood up, a bit aggravated at the undignified tossing, even as the two soldiers turned, walking away without another word.
The private that had so expertly dealt with Nuriko stood there for another minute, his mouth opening and closing. Perhaps he was trying to finish every sentence she had cut him off.....all at the same time. Maybe he was attempting to apologize for the soldier's rough treatment of her friend. Or, maybe, he was even trying to ask the woman for a date.
It didn't matter. He finally just closed his mouth, smiled, and walked directly away from them.
Nuriko slowly cocked an eyebrow over towards Ozzy.
"What did you do?" she asked evenly.
Baxter opened his mouth to speak, pausing. His face wrinkled, as he contemplated his next words, his left hand scratching the back of his neck absentmindedly.
"Ahh, had a bit of raw luck last time I was here..."
"Gambling?"
"Well...yes..." he shrugged sheepishly.
Nuriko turned, walking back towards the aircraft, Ozzy almost leaping to catch up.
"But, it's not what you think, baby..."
"I am sure." she stated, never breaking her brisk stride.
"...the Duke of Windsor's big into the horses, you know? I set him up with a pair of champions. I mean, grade-A beauties! Best of the best, cream of the crop!"
"...they weren't yours to sell, were they...?"
Ozzy paused, his face wrinkling again.
"Weeellllll.....not exactly, no..."
Nuriko just snorted.
"....and they weren't exactly horses, either..."
Nuriko rolled her eyes.
"...he was pretty hammered that day....I'd been talking him up in the Pub for a few hours....one thing led to another.....and the next thing I knew, he was paying me three-million-pounds for two cows in Essex that we spotted in a field on our ride home..."
"You're not serious?"
"No...no, I'm rarely serious..." he smiled. "But, I am telling the truth."
"Why did he not simply throw you into prison?" she asked, the fine mist coming a bit thicker.
"Well, for him to do that, he would have to admit that the evening ever happened." Ozzy shrugged. "The cows were only the first stop that day. I know a few lovely ladies down in Eastend..."
"What did you take them for?"
"What? Oh, nothing. But, there was a bit of a snafu...I mean, being they were illegal prostitutes, and, with him declaring them ambassadors of state, and all..."
"Mr. Baxter?"
"Yes?"
"I do not believe I would like to hear the rest of your story."
"Oh...okay..." he nodded.
"And, Mr. Baxter?"
"Yes?"
"If you call me 'baby' again, you will fly the rest of the way to La Perdita on the outside of the plane. Are we clear?"
"Yes."
They walked towards the waiting aircraft silently for a moment or two, Ozzy wiping at his now-drenched mop of white.
"Could you share that?" he nodded towards her ornamental umbrella.
"No."
